


his head and his heart

by orphan_account



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Child Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infanticide, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M, Mpreg, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 01:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13753524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As the words leave little Loki’s lips Thor vows he’ll do anything to prove himself worthy.





	his head and his heart

**Author's Note:**

> In which Thor and Loki are to be wedded but Thanos has other ideas.

…

“I do not wish to marry a Jötnar,” Thor pouts, twelve years old, having just learned of his betrothal. Furious, ready to throw himself—despite the immaturity of it, the behavior unfitting of a future king –to the ground if the moment called for it. “Why can’t Baldur marry one!?”

Óðinn sits upon Hliðskjálf, eyeing Thor with great disinterest—decisions already founded and concrete in his mind, “You shall, the very peace between our realms depends on it, and I shall hear no more complaints on the matter.”

With the fiery thunder of a storm Thor darts away from Hliðskjálf seeking out the solace only his room could provide where he was safe to complain and shout as much as he’d like about the matter.

…

Eight years old, Thor’s betrothed, Loki is small—a runt—and stunningly beautiful for a Jötnar—Thor believing them all hulking giant monsters of little class.  The horns all Jötnar possessed have yet to sprout like seedlings from Loki’s skin, mere bumps on his forehead. Furs and jewels adorn his tiny body and Loki eyes Thor with great suspicion, Loki’s head held high as if he were already queen of the Æsir, his pointed little nose tilted up haughtily.  When he speaks his voice holds a sharp keen edge like a knife, “I am Loki of Jötunheimr and you must prove yourself worthy of my hand.”

No later than Loki speaks does Laufey rebuke him, the big Jötunn laughing, the jovial sound of it shaking the ground with great force, “He must prove no such thing.”

However, as the words leave little Loki’s lips Thor vows he’ll do anything to prove himself worthy.

…

Thor picks roses and flowers from Frigga’s gardens, thorns spiking his fingers and making him shed life-giving blood—wounds Frigga later bandages with a smile—he hands the flowers to Loki with a wide toothed grin which Loki accepts gratefully, plaiting the colorful flora in his long ebony locks. Thor hunts for Loki, presenting him with deliciously seasoned and dried rabbit and clean white pelts each time Loki comes to visit. Climbing one of Iðunn’s great apple trees, Thor’s hands raw and bloodied from the sharp tree’s bark, heart racing rapidly as Iðunn shouts and tries to run him down. But he believes his escapades are worth it when Loki bites into the golden fruit, his face brightening as sweet juices cling to his plump blue lips.

Loki presses a wet sticky kiss to Thor’s cheek, “You are worthy,” Loki giggles before running off to his dam.

Blood pounding, loud like war drums in his ears Thor knows he’s fallen madly in love.

…

They are allowed a rare moment alone when Loki is of fourteen years and Thor eighteen, sitting on a marble bench in Frigga’s floral scented gardens. Loki primps and preens, plaiting and unplaiting his lengthy wavy hair—Thor watches with fascination as his long lean fingers work—and pinching his cheeks until they flush a stunning and enthralling indigo. Thor finds him more enticingly beautiful than any Æsir—Loki very aware of this fact.

“My sire told me a most interesting thing,” Loki says, brushing a wheatened lock behind Thor’s pink ear. Stiffening, Thor struggles to breath, Loki’s cool touch and sweet scent making his damned cock give a twitch of interest.

“Aye? What would it be?” Nervously, Thor asks—his anxieties doing little to staunch his bleeding curiosity, for Loki was mischievous. Thor knew not what to expect.

“That you do not have a cunt but only a cock,” Loki says as simply as stating the color of his skin or the sky—both an alluring blue. He giggles behind his hand, watching Thor through the thick fringes of his long black lashes, “Is it strange being a halfling?”

“It is all I know,” Thor coughs, face hot and red with embarrassment as he avoids Loki’s clever ruby eyes. “Do you bleed monthly like a woman?” Thor asks, he knows little about Jötunn biology, only that they can both bear and sire children.

“I bleed monthly like a Jötunn,” Loki huffs proudly, a naughty smile alighting his face, “Do you want to see?”

“Do I want to see you bleed?” Paling, Thor spits, stomach twitching disturbed by the idea.

Loki rolls his eyes as if Thor is the biggest fool in all the realms, “My cunt,” he says simply, raising himself on his knees to hover over Thor. Eyes certain and demanding he leans close to Thor, face dewy and breaths soft as he speaks against Thor’s lips, “Do you want to see my cunt?”

Wordless and breathless Thor nods, unable to deny Loki anything.

…

Loki offers Thor everything and Thor eagerly takes it, offering just as much in turn.

…

Their love is an easy thing they fall into, and as innocent and pure as love can be, saccharine as the seasons changing—winter giving way to soft and supple fertile spring.

…

Thor’s favorite days become not his training or adventures with Sif and The Warriors Three, but the bi-monthly time when Loki comes to visit with his dam to plan their upcoming wedding.

…

However, peace is a fickle fleeting thing and the joy of it does not last. A week before Loki’s eighteenth birthday and a month before they are to be wedded, Thanos—a war lord—threatens their realms. Thanos seeing Loki for the first time, takes in his stunning beauty and grace and swears the safety of Jötunheimr and Asgard in return for the Jötunn prince. Óðinn and partially Laufey—though with great regret for his child’s welfare and safety—fearing for their homes and safety of their realms agree that without realms to maintain peace in peace is a pointless thing.

And to maintain their realms, Loki is to be given up as a war prize to appease Thanos’ violent nature.

…

“Loki will be Thanos’ concubine,” Óðinn says far too calmly for Thor’s liking.

Boiling with the hot angered heat of the summer sun Thor stands, fist clenches and knuckles white with the force of his rage, “I will not allow it.”

Loki flinches at Thor’s side—Thor wonders why he’s able to throw away their love, accept defeat so easily—placing a small comforting hand on Thor’s elbow, imploring, pleading with his eyes. It does little to quell Thor’s fury.

“This is not about what you will allow, child.” Óðinn hisses from Hliðskjálf, an imposing figure but Thor will not be imposed any longer.

“I wish to speak to Loki alone,” Thor says, ignoring the furious one-eyed glare Óðinn shoots his way.

“I’ll allow it for one last time, Óðinnson. Do not abuse this kindness,” Laufey’s sternness is disconcerting, but Thor focuses instead on the way Loki bites his lip and avoids his eyes, silent at his dam’s side—Loki was never silent—Loki’s face and thoughts a well-kept secret, mouth set in a blank unreadable line.

With the elegance of a prince, Loki excuses himself from Laufey and Óðinn’s presences, following Thor outside.

…

“Do you want this?” Thor asks, once they are alone in Frigga’s garden, reminded of the first time they had been alone, and Thor had taken Loki against the bench, all bated breaths and soft frantic moans, seeming like a far off foggy dream now. He cannot believe any of this is happening, he wishes to will denial but it’s all so painfully true.

Loki does not face him, his small elegant hands traveling over the tall colorful flowers, he does turn at Thor’s question, head whipping around with a snap, blue skin purple and splotchy with rage.

“Do you think so little of me, you’d actually think I want this?’ Loki hisses like a cornered beast, voice thick and low with emotions, “Do you think instead of your queen I’d rather be a war lord’s spoils—nothing more than a whore!!?”

“That is not what I meant,” With a murmur Thor softens as Loki’s façade cracks, small tears gathering in his red eyes. Growing up in the harshness of Jötunheimr, Loki had learned that tears were a sign of weakness and in the frigid land and bitter coldness the weak did not survive. Loki prided himself on that strength and hardness he’d learned as a child and to show Thor something as simple as his tears Thor knows Loki is breaking.

“My love,” Thor tries, thumbing away the tears that cling to Loki’s long black lashes, his heart breaking with every tear Loki sheds.

 “I am no longer _‘your love’,_ I _‘belong’_ to another,” But even as he speaks Loki clasps Thor’s hand, clinging to it as if it’s the very thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“Cannot my heart still belong to you and yours to mine?” He brings Loki’s hands to his lips, kissing the cool skin, tasting snow and ice and seiðr. The cage of his ribs feels increasingly small, strangling Thor’s heart and lungs with every panicked breath he takes, very aware that these moments with Loki might be his last. How helpless they both felt.

“It would be wise to ignore these feelings, they can only end in pain,” Loki hisses as if the very words tear free like an unleashed hive of swarming bees.

“You may be Thanos’ concubine Loki, but you do not belong to him, you never will.”

“Because I am yours,” It is not a question but a statement, Loki cupping Thor’s bearded face between his cool palms, face thoughtful and lips pursued. He speaks, forlornly—as if he’s already hopeless and lost— Thor’s stomach dropping, “I will think of you often, Óðinnson.”

“Do not go through with this Loki,” Desperate, a sinking ship, Thor says kissing Loki’s palm—a final plea.

“Are you really so naïve to think I have a choice in this? Thor the safety of our realms and our people depend on my sacrifice.”

Thor prickles, aware of the truthfulness in Loki’s noble words, but still he cannot bear to concede, “Perhaps if we talked to my father or your dam we could work out another treaty that does not allow for you to be a sacrificial pawn.”

Shaking—trembling—despite his efforts to stay stiff and straight spined, Loki gently kisses Thor’s cheek, tender as if healing a broken bird or an injured child, “My poor sweet Thor, how hopeful you are.”

Frantic, his hope a crushing thing, Thor returns the kiss, urgently, unsure of when—if ever—he’ll taste Loki’s lips again, cataloging the feel of them, a snow touched rose petal—cold, soft, and floral.

“I love you, Loki Laufeyjarson,” Thor admits, had admitted it a thousand times, would admit it a thousand more if it offered Loki some sense of security or comfort—if it meant his own happiness and comfort.

“And I you,” Loki breathes into Thor’s lips, the words settling in Thor’s chest and lungs, leaving him gasping and pained for air.

“Show me your love, Óðinnson,” Loki whispers, tender and low, barely audible on the harsh wind that whips pass them, “Show me your love one final time.”

Without further word, Thor lifts Loki, lowering him down upon the bench where they first lay together years ago—where Loki had given himself over, whimpered when Thor tasted his cunt for the first time.  He takes him again in the garden. Not caring if Huginn, Muninn, and Heimdallr sees. Their flesh joins in an age-old tradition and Thor curses the norns that it does not last longer. He wishes it would last an eternity—that Thanos would never come. With tear stained cheeks Loki comes apart beneath him, Thor spilling his seed deep inside Loki’s womb.

They do not speak the words goodbye, letting their bodies speak, the words too torturous to accept.

…

The sky of Asgard is grey when Thanos comes to retrieve Loki, as if even the golden realm is mourning his loss. Thor certainly is, perhaps it is his sorrow that darkens the clouds, rain threatening as thunder and lightening streak and slice across the atmosphere.  They meet on the _Bifröst_ —the designated area to finalize their treaty with Thanos. Thanos approaches Loki large and loaming, his shadow swallowing the runt whole, Thor’s strong Loki looking all too small and frail beneath it. If he didn’t know Loki so well, he wouldn’t have seen the sheer wave a terror that crossed his face in a flash, quickly replaced with a blank mask. He wants nothing more than to run to Loki, steal and hide him away. But following Óðinn’s orders he stands still and straight, back stiff and jaw clenched, a vein throbbing angrily at his temple. He would be a good prince as Loki was, he would not cause a war in their realms and endanger their people. He would make Loki’s sacrifice worth something.

“He is even prettier up close,” Thanos booms.

“He is the jewel of Jötunheimr,” Óðinn says, “You are making a fine bargain with us, an even trade for our safety.”

Thor cracks his knuckles and grinds his teeth but remains otherwise silent, he never wanted to see his father bleed more than at this moment, never wanted to scream and fight more, his vision going red and his throat and muscles burning with fury.

“Indeed,” Thanos says, leaning down to hover over Loki like a predator. He cups Loki’s chin to better study his face, greedily devouring the sight of him, a carnivore—Loki his favorite delicacy, “I would like to better inspect him if that’s okay.”

“Please do,” Óðinn says and both Laufey and Thor bite their lips, the sweet rusty taste of blood filling his mouth.

Rage bubbles a hot and painful thing in Thor’s blood, he feels himself losing control, the threat of his berserker blood raging. It’s Laufey’s hand on his chest that hold him back—Laufey controlling his temperature to be able to touch Thor without freezing his skin—as Thanos’ hands travel over Loki’s fine skin. Hovering over and dwarfing his shoulders, trailing down his stomach and under his loan cloth.

A fierce cry emerges, and Thor realizes it’s his own as Thanos’ finger breeches Loki’s cunt, Loki’s small body going rigid, face paling with the pain of it—too dry to properly take the girth of him yet. Thanos leans over Loki, a mad grin on the titan’s purple wild face.

“Was he your lover little one?” Thanos asks pointing at Thor with his unoccupied hand, Loki remains still and silent, face betraying nothing, but Thor’s emotions betray all. He’d kill Thanos if his father allowed it—swears he’ll kill Thanos when the titan least expects it.

 “He will not cause us any trouble now, will he?” Thanos asks viperously, gripping Loki’s chin hard enough to leave bruises. 

Thor hisses in Laufey’s grasp and Laufey struggles to hold him back despite his larger size, whispering against Thor’s temple so only he could hear, “I know child, I know. But you must be still.”

Loki flinches away then, eyes meeting Thor’s—beseeching, despairing, terrified—one final time, “No, he will not.” It’s spoken sternly—warning—and as always Thor obeys Loki, going limp with a sob in Laufey’s arm.

“Good,” Thanos bellows, taking Loki in his arms and with a flash of the Tesseract they are gone.

…

It’s an odd thing, finding comfort in Laufey’s arms but Thor clings to him, tears freezing on the Jötunn’s skin as Laufey strokes a large firm hand down his hair. Óðinn watches with an unfeeling eye—sick with disappointment at his son.

“You would have been good for Loki, dear child,” Laufery says, “He loved you very much.”

Thor breaks, “I love him, more than Asgard herself.”

“It will heal in time, child.”

Thor doubts he will ever heal from this.

…

Life without Loki is dull and painful, although he knows it’s nothing compared to the pain Loki carries, for Thor feels the loneliness and sickness of it seep deep within the marrow of his bones. Laufey writes him monthly, and there are times Thor wish he did not, but he corresponds despite it, needing the distraction.

…

A century passes and still Thor is haunted by Loki—haunted by the horrors the young jötunn no doubt endured—thinking of him often, always with great love and the deepest regret. And although the years pass, and he seeks out other lovers to pleasure his flesh and warm his bed, Loki is always a welcomed weight in his head and his heart.

…

Thanos much to Thor’s horror and reluctant but fading hope returns with little signs of Loki. Honoring his bargain with the Æsir and Jötnar he leaves their realms in welcomed peace, focusing his attacks on Midgard—the land of mortals and Thor’s friends, the Avengers. Not caring if it betrays the treaty with Thanos—unconcerned about the diplomacy of it—Thor wages equal war against Thanos’, fighting as he wished he fought to protect Loki years ago. With each of Thanos’ warriors he slays, he prays to the Norns that Loki is hidden away—safe, alive, and unharmed—that each battle would bring them finally closer.

It’s the Avengers combined strength—with Hulk’s smash and Thor’s berserker rage—that finally brings Thanos down, in a spray of blood and lightning fried flesh.  However, in victory, Thor is graced with little joy, burdened with the suffocating feel of defeat, for even with Thanos gone, there was little signs of Loki’s life.

…

“Why are we searching Thanos’ ship again?” Stark asks, voice electric static through his metal suit.

“Someone should be here,” Thor states simple, too concerned and focused to offer Tony anymore.

“This is the second time we’ve looked this over Thor, there’s no sign of your ex.”

“My betrothed,” Thor hisses, raising Mjölnir in fury, unwilling to think of Loki is anything but such. If Thanos had not intervened, Thor knows with great faith he and Loki would’ve been happily married, with babes crawling and running at their feet.

Quickly Tony raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, point break, your _fiancé_.”

Somewhat calmer, Thor lowers his weapon, the red fog of hazy rage clearing. A quiver works up his spine, shaking his large body with dread and loss. Giving up was not an option, he would search all nine realms and the end of the universe for signs of Loki, even if he spent his remaining centuries that way—let Baldur have the throne (he was probably more infinitely deserving). Thor did not want it without Loki by his side—he would know if Loki were alive or dead—could not rest peacefully until the knowledge of it filled him. Although the latter thought left his chest sore as if broken.

He pushes forward.

Together with Tony’s help, they search Thanos’ broken and forgotten ship, the place reeking of death and rust—Thor’s stomach lurching with it. After what seemed like hours—but could’ve been only mere minutes in Thor’s frantic state—they find Thanos’ personal quarters, the room lavishly decorated in tapestries of purple and gold, a large bed sitting at its center. Thor tastes acrid bitter bile at the thought of what transpired there—how terrified and lost Loki must have felt lain out beneath Thanos’ looming shadow, a sacrificial lamb, for he had only ever known the kindness of Thor’s love, had never faced brutality of the war lord’s standards (Jötunheimr may have been harsh but the war lord was harsher). Vaguely, Thor wonders if Loki felt helpless, the Loki he knew never felt helpless, but cruelty and years change one. With great effort he tries not to think of a weakened or helpless Loki, his blood boiling thick and hot with it. He roars, eyes roaming over the room to find no Loki in sight.

Thor strikes out his rage and loss, slamming his fist into a tapestry, knuckles hollowly hitting the wall behind it.

“Thor,” Stark says, placing a comforting—it is not—hand on Thor’s broad shoulder, “He’s not here.”

Brows raising, Thor strikes the wall again, the same hollow sound rebounding through the room. Perhaps his ears deceive him, but he swears he hears a distant familiar whimper. Heart racing with hope and trepidation he rips down the tapestry, finding the metal behind it discolored and flimsy. With great care and precision, he strikes the wall one final time, metal panel falling away to reveal a hidden room.

“Holy shit,” Tony says, finally relatively quiet in his stunned shock.

Gasping Thor darts forward, hot tears burning his eyes.

Loki sits chained to the wall, runes engraved in his cuffs to prevent the usage of seiðr, his red eyes remain unfocused—yet unaware of Thor’s presence—one swollen shut with a purple bruise, his small skinny chest rising and falling with pants. Loki reeks of fear, starved and shaking like a neglected animal, and Thor falls instantly and immediately at his side.

“Loki,” Relieved and simultaneously horrified Thor reaches forward before drawing his hand back, thinking better of it, lest he frighten and cause Loki further emotional harm.

One of Loki’s horns is missing, cruelly chopped off by no doubt Thanos’ hand. Thor studies Loki, finding him naked and bruised but otherwise uninjured physically—he knew not the emotional extent of what Thanos had caused. His eyes widen when the settle on Loki’s stomach, the rest of him glaringly skinny compared to it, round and heavy with babe. It wouldn’t be the first child Loki bore Thanos in the length of a century Thor knew, fearing for the welfare of the other children Loki most likely bore.

“Loki,” Thor attempts again, Loki’s eyes finally dart to Thor, searching out his face with great distress, before fully focusing. A brightness like the sun settles within the depths of his red eyes.

“Thor?! Thor?” Loki cries, voice crack from disuse, frantic and disbelieving.

“It is I,” Thor softens, deciding finally it is safe to reach for Loki.

Loki promptly bursts into tears.

…

Once his tears have subsided, the end of a long storm, Thor holds him close against the warmth his wide chest offers as Loki cries himself out.

Loki collects his emotions as best as he is able, sniffling as his face glimmers, sapphire and wet with tears, “Can you cut me down? I cannot feel my arms.”

Wielding Mjölnir with care but force Thor gives the chains two brutal taps, breaking them. Loki falls, collapsing to the ground with a useless thud, his legs shaking.

“I still can’t believe it?” Tony says awestruck, “That’s him? Holy shit, that’s him?”

“Aye, this is Loki. Loki, this is my friend the Man of Iron. He has helped me search for you,” Thor says delicately, afraid Loki may break if he speaks wrong, eyes never leaving Loki lest he disappear.

Taking in the other person Loki’s shoulders square as he holds his chin high, prideful even after all of this, despite his nudity and what he has been through. Thor is amazed by Loki’s strength and has never felt more in love.

“I am Loki, child of Fárbauti and Laufey, brother to Helblindi and Býleistr, second prince of Jötunheimr.”

“Oh-kay,” Tony says, stunned and dare Thor say oddly humored—much to his displeasure. “I’m Tony Stark.”

…

Draping his cape across Loki’s shoulders for modesty sake, the red fabric billowing and hanging on Loki, dripping satin, a bloodied waterfall, they board the Quinn Jet, Loki clinging to the fabric as if it’s his life line. Loki’s eyes do not leave Thor’s as they fly, slicing through the air quickly towards the Avengers’ tower.

Thor knows, deep in his chest this is real, but the truth of it is a hard thing to accept—he is in shock, still imagining this as a figment of his imagination. That if he or Loki dares to blink the other will disappear without a trace, leaving them both carelessly and terrifyingly alone. 

“Is he truly gone?” Loki asks, breaking the fragile sacred silence, for that Thor is grateful, unsure of what to say or how to approach Loki after what had passed—what he allowed to pass, a century of guilt a crushing stone he carries.

“Aye,” Lifting Loki’s chin up Thor forces a smile, trying to convey his reassurance and promises, “He will not harm you again.”

…

“Can we trust him?” Clint asks.

Loki fell asleep on the jet, to Thor’s relief—Loki visibly exhausted both physically and mentally. With great caution and care he carries the Jötunn upstairs to his living quarters, tucking Loki’s frail body in a thick bed of quilts and furs. Loki lets out a soft sigh, face peaceful in sleep as if the last century of horror had not accrued.

“What do you mean!?” Thor growls, teeth clenched and bared, a lion ready to pounce.

“I’m not saying he’s an ally of Thanos—” Clint starts.

“If you knew who Loki was or what he has been through you would not be thinking these thoughts,” Thor’s knuckles bleed white as he clenches his fist, nails cutting crescent moons harshly into his palms.

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Tony adds, taking a sip of his brandy.

“I do not understand,” Thor murmurs.

“Cultural barriers,” Tony says.

Natasha cuts in, face a blank an unreadable as always but her annoyance at the men obvious in her voice, “When a captive falls in love with their captor. I’m sure you’ve seen it before in battle Thor.”

“I—” Thor stiffens at the idea, mouth dry and bitter, “Loki would never be so weak.”

“It’s not a matter of weakness, Thor,” Natasha, murmurs kindly, stern face gentle as she speaks, “Loki probably did things to protect himself that we don’t even dare to think of. All I’m saying is don’t hold him accountable if he’s a different person than the one you used to know.”

Leaving the room without a word, Thor loses the contents of his stomach on Tony’s shiny tiled floor.

…

Two red wide eyes greet him when he returns to his rooms, Loki awake.

“Thor,” Loki peeps, misplaced as he crawls forward. Red cape, blankets and furs falling from his form.

“Loki,” In a beat Thor is at his side, heavy weight denting the bed and sending Loki leaning towards him, “I never stopped searching for you.”

A trembling hand reaches out, tracing Thor’s beard covered jaw. Thor leans into the touch starved of Loki.

“I thought I dreamt it, but you are real,” Loki murmurs heavily, as if the same scenario had plagued him night after night, only to wake up cold and with a monster—a prisoner for the sake of his family and home. His face alight with awe, Loki says simply, “I never stopped loving you.”

Thor breaks, like lightning cracking the sky before rain falls, tears running thick rivulets down his tanned cheeks. Unable to resist, a child sneaking a sweet treat, he draws Loki to him, fearing what discomfort it may cause him—for Loki’s comfort was of the utmost importance. However, Loki relaxes in his arms and it’s all the reassurance Thor needs, Loki’s legs wrapping around Thor’s waist as his nails dig bloody crevices in Thor’s shoulders. Thor swears with great certainty in that moment he will never let Loki leave his sight again—never let another harm or take him.

“And I you,” Thor whispers, barely audible over the roaring sound of his heart and their labored needy breaths. Loki’s face is wet against his neck, “I’m real,” He says, “I’m real.”

…

The sound of rushing water fills the sterile white bathroom as Thor runs a bath for Loki, lukewarm, cold to Thor’s touch but just warm enough for Loki’s chilled Jötunn skin.

“Would you like to be alone?” Thor asks warily, wanting to give Loki space if he so desired it.

“No, please join me,” Loki murmurs, sinking into the tub with a relieved sigh, water sloshing against his large belly. Thor’s heart flutters like a young maiden, little butterflies tickling his stomach. With a red face, he undresses, nearly tripping as he does. Loki smiles, offering Thor a soft and small giggle—sad and nostalgic—at his eager fumbling. The curve of his lips and the sound of it surprising them both.

The corner of Thor’s eyes crinkle, “I never thought I’d heart the cruel mocking laugh of Loki Laufeyjarson again,” He jests kindly.

Sinking deeper into the tub Loki draws his knees to his chest—protectively—allowing room for Thor in the water, “Nor did I.”

The water licks at Thor’s skin, sending a cool shiver up his spine but he bears the cold temperature for Loki, would bear anything for Loki.

“I’ve never bathed with an Áss before,” Loki says, “I bathed with my brothers when I was young—how do they fair?”

“Helblindi is wedded and with child.”

Resting his head on his knees, Loki looks thoughtful, lost in his mind, “I am glad and my dam?” Thor wants to kiss it away, make him better, heal him, but he’s at a loss of what to do.

“Laufey writes me often.”

“Does he know?” Loki perks, earnestly surprised—he had always thought his dam rather unfond of Thor.

“Aye. Loki, he regrets what had passed, as do I. I know with great faith that if given a second chance Laufey would have went to war. He—”

A chill finger to his lips silences him and Thor looks up to meet Loki’s certain eyes, Loki kneeling like a knight before a king, face only inches away. Thor’s breath catches, a hard-painful knot in his throat.

“We cannot live with regrets or what ifs. I have learned this the hard way, Thor. You are safe, my homeland and family are safe because of what I did,” his finger drops, replaced quickly and chastely with his lips, a mere whisper of a kiss, “I would do it over again if it meant the ones I loved met no harm.”

“You are braver than I and most,” Thor says with great respect, drawing Loki his most precious treasure against his chest, feeling warmth of the soul despite the chilled water. It’s intimate in ways of the heart and body Thor has never felt. Vulnerable and Complete. Together they are one, whole. He doesn’t want it to end.

…

Although Stark offers Loki his own room, he vows to spend the nights with Thor, neither willing to leave the other’s side.

…

Loki wakes with a cry and Thor fears for a moment something is wrong, sitting up in bed with the fury of a mad man, “Are you well?”

Loki sighs, breathing heavily, face tinted lavender, “I am fine, the babe just kicked hard. I think she is getting ready to have out soon.”

It takes a moment for Thor to process Loki’s words, the gears of his mind turning slowly before sparking to light, “May I feel?”

“Of course,” Loki smiles gently, guiding Thor’s large warm hand onto his even larger belly. Thor waits a moment before the child begins to move again. Loki grunts with it, three small taps against his belly, reverberating up through Thor’s hand.

Thor is bewildered into silence, staring in awe, tears stinging his eyes at the little life Loki had created, “How does it feel?”

“Like she is fighting war with my bladder,” Loki says simply, red eyes glowing in the ink black night.

Thor laughs hesitantly, resting his cheek on Loki’s plush chest, “You said she?”

“Aye, the child is a girl.”

“How can you be so sure?” Thor asks curiously, the sound of cars passing through the city streets drowning out the beat of his heart.

“She is a part of me Thor and therefore part of my seiðr, I can sense every little thing and thought about her as if they were my own.”

“Do you love her?”

There is a pause, a breath and the whisper of fabric as Loki turns his head to look away, “Aye. I do.”

…

When Loki wakes later that night it is concerning, a shrill scream leaving his lips as he convulses and spasms again the bed sheets.  Thor’s eyes widen as he shakes Loki’s thin shoulders, Loki’s eyes shooting open like a bullet. He pants heavily, eyes darting around the room in frantic panic before they settle on Thor.

“Oh thank the norns, Thor—” He pants, “Thor.”

“What has happened?” Thor asks, tucking Loki’s hair behind his ear, Loki leans into the touch as if starved of it, starved of love and kindness, and he had been for so long.

“I dreamt of _him_ ,” Loki says simply, but Thor knows the weight those words carry.

“All is well, Loki,” Thor murmurs, drawing Loki to his chest and rocking him softly. He presses tender kisses to his temple, tasting the bitterness of his fear and salt of his sweat.

Loki pants, quivering like a new born foal, groaning as if pained, “Thor, there is something I must tell you and I fear you will hate me for it.”

“Loki, I could never hate you—”

Loki says it all in one breath, a terrified howl on the wind as he grips Thor’s skin painfully between thin clawed fingers, “I bore you a child.”

“I do not understand—” Thor’s pulse beats hard in his throat, dread settling over him like a blanket.

“Our last love making resulted in a child, Thor. One I was not strong enough to protect. I bore you a son and Thanos, furious that the child was not his—for it was pink pale and blonde headed—drowned it while I could do nothing but watch and scream,” Loki sobs, curling into small quivering ball, tears hidden in his knees, “I did not fight for _Váli_ hard enough.”

Thor’s heart and stomach drop to the floor—Loki and he had made a child. Loki had named and brought their son in the world only to have it stolen from them. Thor wants to unroll Loki, unfurl all the pain he’s feeling and take it upon himself. He wishes Thanos were alive again, merely so he could kill him a hundred times over, “I do not blame you. What passed is not your fault, if anything I am just as culpable for taking you when you were sworn to another.”

“I am a selfish animal for I do not regret what passed between us, I do not regret bearing you a child, but I regret that it only took a few breaths—I am a monster.”

“Loki, no—” Thor says sternly, gripping Loki’s shoulders tightly, Loki staring up at him wide eyed and inconsolable.

“He stole every child from me Thor, ripped them from my arms before they were even able to nurse.”

“What happened?” He asks, the bed beneath him feeling as if its floating, his head light with fear, already connecting the dreadful dots.

“He trained them to be warriors, to fight in his search for glory and domination,” Loki whimpers, “I do not know if they lived or died but I named and loved each one. I knew them, and they knew me not as their dam but as their sire’s slave. I was nothing to them, Thor. They were raised to spit at my feet and gaze upon me with scorn.”

Thor wonders how many of Loki’s children he slayed in their war against Thanos—thinking of every blue skinned or horned creature he slaughtered. Stricken sick with fault and the responsibility of taking—destroying—another’s life. What dreadful live those children must have lived, how they were never given the opportunities to know or do better. How their lives were endless rage and suffering. Tragic—just as much a slave to Thanos as Loki was. Thor swears this child will know only kindness. That this child will sleep on Loki’s chest, drink his milk, and look upon her dam with love. 

“I cannot breathe,” Loki pants, drawing Thor from his thoughts, clutching his chest and clawing at Thor as he sobs.

Thor takes Loki’s hand in his, pressing it against his chest as his lungs fill and deflate, chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, “Breathe with me, Loki. Slow and even.”

Loki nods, chewing his lips as he hiccups and wheezes, doing his best to focus on Thor. Thor holds Loki until his breathing regulates and tears subside and his chest rises and falls slowly with the kindness of sleep.

…

Loki adjusts to life with the Avengers well, curious about them all, inspecting their weapons and asking them questions. He devours their food heartedly, packing on healthy weight, filling out in his hips and chest—for this Thor is glad, the sight of Loki’s too thin ribs disappearing. He watches TV with Thor, curled up on the couch, fingers in his mouth as he drifts off to sleep. When his dreams are free of terror, he wakes Thor with kisses and desperate morning breaths, snugly clawing at Thor’s broad shoulders. When the nights haunt him, a bitter vengeful ghost, he wakes body damp with tears and sweat and Thor can only hold him.

…

Loki goes into labor three days before he is due, the labor short and for that Thor (and Loki) is thankful, although the two hours feel like many listening to Loki scream and writhe against the sheets. Their hands twined together, Loki gripping Thor’s fingers so tightly his bones crack and click, but the pain is nothing compared to the anxiety that bubbles in his stomach for Loki’s welfare.

“Breathe, Loki, Breathe,” Thor reminds him, as Loki pants, gasps and grunts.

Loki shoots him a glare, “I’m trying, Thor.”

“I think you’re dilated enough to push,” Banner says, face green with nausea—not the hulk for once—as he kneels between Loki’s spread legs, “Are you ready?”

“Aye. I am,” Loki pants, giving a moan of effort as he begins to push, his face painted purple, long ebony hair plastered to his neck with sweat. Thor has never seen Loki more beautiful, bringing another life into the world.

With a push from Loki—and a wet sound—the baby emerges as a sharp cry fills the room.

Banner catches the baby, cleaning it under Loki’s scrutinizing gaze. Siting up with a wince Loki watches despairingly, fear as clear as the morning sky glimmering in his eyes, dreading, panicking that his baby will be stolen from him again.

Thor kisses Loki’s damp temple tasting salt, “Banner is a friend,” he reassures, but still Loki does not calm—and Thor cannot blame him—stiff, guarded, and fierce eyed until Banner hands him his child.

 Careful eager arms reach out, bringing the red eyed lavender skinned babe against Loki’s small breasts. The babe cries against Loki, face wet with birth and tears and Loki startles, “Is she well?”

“A perfectly healthy alien baby from what I can tell,” Banner says relieved, his glasses fogged with warmth and sweat, skin pink, “Ah, she might be hungry.”

“I can feed her if she so desires,” Loki murmurs, tenderly cooing and guiding his babe to his breast, her small fist curling around Loki’s long thin finger.

And for the first time in his long life, Loki holds and nurses his own child—blessed.

…

“She is beautiful,” Thor says as Loki reclines against the bed, humming as the babe suckles at his breast.

Thor blushes.

They are alone now, Banner leaving them after he helped deliver the after birth. Silence fills the room, save for the sounds of their shared breaths and the babe’s—Nari, Loki named her—soft grunts. The artificial lights setting dam and child in a glowing halo and Thor wonders if _Yggdrasil itself is in awe of the picture their little family makes. It’s simple, right and magical Thor thinks._

“She sounds like a pig when she drinks,” Thor observes.

Loki rolls his eyes, “Thank you for likening my babe to a pig.”

“I am sorry, truly,” Thor laughs. Tender as he brushes Loki’s hair from his face, tucking it behind his pointed ear, chasing the trail of his finger with kisses. The pride in Loki he felt an overwhelming thing.

“I’m terrified,” Loki admits, tired and cagey.

“What for?” Thor asks, brows furrowed, “Thanos—” He loathes even speaking the name, heavy and bitter on his tongue, the way Loki hardens and flinches at the sound of it, “is defeated. You are here with me now, safe.”

“What if the child grows to be cruel and monstrous just like her sire and siblings—”

“You once told me to not think of what ifs.” Thor lightly raises Loki’s chin, eyes honest and true, “I may not have sired her, but the child is mine. And no child of mine will want.”

Loki’s eyes wet with tears, Thor wipes them away, bringing their lip together as he breathes into Loki’s mouth, “The child is our Loki, together we will give her happiness and raise her right.”

…

Thor knows that it will take Loki a long while to heal from the trauma Thanos caused—centuries even—but for now, in the quiet of the hospital room, the buzz of the florescent lights and the soft way Loki snores exhausted from birth; Nari gurgles in Thor’s big arms, They are at peace.

…

**Author's Note:**

> im not fond of this fic but i finished it quickly. thanks to redflowerblooming for helping. find me on tumblr @squishy-loki


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